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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544159">As Wit and Fortune Will</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermega/pseuds/supermega'>supermega</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, F/M, M/M, jon is a good dad with supportive friends, jon is an admissions officer, martin is an english professor, mild dub-con warning, single dad jon au, the rest of the archive crew also works in admissions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 07:02:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermega/pseuds/supermega</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosalind Lenore Sims was born on the 23rd of March, 2007, at 4:23 AM. She was 6lb 9oz., had Jon’s curly black hair and dark skin, and smiled the moment she saw him. It was the first time in his life that Jon had ever been completely sure that he would die for someone without hesitation.</p><p>or; Jonathan Sims, a single dad working in the admissions office of the university he went to school at, meets Martin Blackwood, the new English professor with a ridiculous affinity for Darjeeling, poetry, and blueberry scones. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sasha James/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>161</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>title (and the name of jon's kid) yoinked from shakespeare's 'as you like it'</p><p>edit: CW for dub-con/mentions of characters having sex while drunk beginning at “he remembered his then-girlfriend” and ending at “he did remember the pregnancy test”</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon’s life started, <em> really </em> started, on a warm Friday night in his second year of uni.</p><p>It wasn’t a night that Jon reminisced on often. He actually didn’t reminisce on it at all, if he could help it. If he was being brutally honest with himself he knew that he avoided thinking about it out of fear of finding some hint of bitterness in his heart, but there never was any. Just faint nostalgia and a sort of vague exhaustion, like he couldn’t help but also remember all the heartache that was soon to follow for the younger version of himself. </p><p>The details of the night were, admittedly, fuzzy. Whether this was from years of willfully turning his mind away from it or the copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed, he wasn’t sure. The things he <em> did </em> remember were choppy and strung together with very little context, but he didn’t have to guess hard at what had occurred.</p><p>He remembered his then-girlfriend, someone whose name he’d fought long and hard to forget, and her plum-colored lipstick.</p><p>He remembered a bar.</p><p>He remembered his dorm room.</p><p>He <em> didn’t </em> remember much of what they did together after that (a testament to how vehemently plastered he’d been), but he did remember the pregnancy test she’d shoved in his face with shaking hands two weeks later. He remembered holding her on the floor of the bathroom while she cried, his own shock rolling over him in waves. He remembered calling Georgie the next day and completely breaking down, remembered skipping all his classes, remembered his utter terror in vivid technicolor.</p><p>Then, difficult conversations. Then, parenting courses that he attended alone. Then, forcing himself to pass his classes because getting his degree was no longer optional.</p><p>Then, holding his daughter for the first time.</p><p>Rosalind Lenore Sims was born on the 23rd of March, 2007, at 4:23 AM. She was 6lb 9oz., had Jon’s curly black hair and dark skin, and smiled the moment she saw him. It was the first time in his life that Jon had ever been completely sure that he would die for someone without hesitation.</p><p>His last year of uni after Rosalind was born was hell, but he didn’t have enough time to complain. He ended up having to look for a second job alongside his position as a TA to make ends meet, a search which seemed relatively hopeless until he stumbled across an ad for an open position at the public library. He explained his situation to the kind old lady that interviewed him and was immediately assured that they didn’t mind it when employees brought in kids, not in the slightest. Jon spent the majority of his tenure there with Rosalind strapped to his chest in a baby carrier that the rest of the staff helped him buy.</p><p>Besides his work at the library he had classes, coursework, and grading to juggle all at once. Then there was his constant fretting over what it meant whenever Rosalind would fuss more (or less) than usual, which resulted in many different phone calls to Georgie about the new and terrible ways in which he was surely killing his child on any given day. He hardly slept, didn’t eat near as much as he probably should have, and never went out (despite Georgie’s insistence that she could take care of Rosalind for a night if Jon wanted to let off some steam). He was a zombie by the end of the second semester.</p><p>Still, he graduated. Walked across the stage with Rosalind propped up on his hip in a cap and gown that matched his own. Put her down for bed that night and had a good cry with Georgie, followed by a bottle of champagne and a Torchwood marathon. They were only halfway through when Rosalind woke up, so Jon propped her up between Georgie and himself and the three of them all eventually fell asleep on the couch together to the soothing sound of John Barrowman’s voice. </p><p>Jon’s desperate search for a full-time job (or at least for another part-time one that could supplement his meager salary) began shortly thereafter. He couldn’t work food service or retail, not without paying for childcare that he couldn’t afford (or having to ask Georgie to care for Rosalind after his shifts at the library, something that he wouldn’t do regardless of her insistence that she didn’t mind), which severely limited his options. Still, he wasn’t picky. He ended up cleaning houses for half a year before the university reached out.</p><p>The very university he’d just barely graduated from, actually. </p><p>They had an open position in the admissions office, they told him, and they found that alumni tended to be the most qualified for the position. Honestly, he checked out halfway through the automated voicemail and was about to delete it, before the robotic voice calmly rattled off “childcare” in the long list of benefits and his interest was immediately piqued. Jon got Georgie to look at his resumé with him over a couple glasses of wine that night and sent it in the following morning.</p><p>He wasn’t sure what to expect walking into his interview a week later, but he found himself strangely comforted by the severe old woman who met him. She had the air of an English teacher, and Jon had always enjoyed being in the presence of people who seemed like they would be happy to correct his grammar if given the opportunity. Jon didn’t remember ever meeting her during his time at uni, but the knowing look in her eyes when she shook his hand made him second guess himself for a moment.</p><p>“Mr. Sims,” she said in lieu of an actual greeting, clasping his hand in hers. “My name is Gertrude Robinson, I’m the Director of Admissions. You can call me Dr. Robinson or Gertrude, either is fine. Please, take a seat.” She motioned to the chair in front of her desk and Jon gladly seated himself.</p><p>“Thank you for reaching out to me,” he said with a small, tight-lipped smile. “I appreciate the opportunity.”</p><p>“Hmm,” she hummed in response, her wrinkled face impassive. “And why is that, exactly?”</p><p>“Why is—why is what?”</p><p>“Why do you appreciate the opportunity, Mr. Sims? What motivated you to apply for this position?” Something about the way she looked at him told him that the answer to this question was more important than anything he could’ve possibly fit on his resumé. Unfortunately, Jon didn’t have a clue what she wanted to hear.</p><p>“Well…” he began slowly, watching Gertrude’s face for any changes as he did, “I was very interested in… the benefits.”</p><p>At this, Gertrude seemed unamused.</p><p>“I’d imagine you were, Mr. Sims. I do hope you can understand that I expect a little more specificity than that.”</p><p>“Y-Yes, of course,” he nodded, taking a beat to weigh his options. He very quickly realized that he was too tired to try and come up with a lie on the spot, so the truth would have to do. “I was… <em> primarily </em> interested in the, the free childcare, actually.” </p><p>Something in Gertrude’s eyes changed at that, and Jon had the sudden feeling that the outcome of the interview had been decided. Whether it was in his favor or not, he wasn’t yet sure.</p><p>“The early education building offers free childcare for children aged six months to three years and a preschool programme following that to all university staff, yes. You will have full access to that resource should you get the position.” She leaned back in her chair for a moment, giving him an odd smile. “I’ve just realized where I recognize you from, Mr. Sims.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Jon asked, bristling a bit in response to both the older woman’s recognition and the sudden change of topic. Gertrude waved his discomfort away like it was nothing.</p><p>“A few pictures of you and your daughter at graduation were featured in some of our promotional materials this past August. She seemed happier to be there than you did,” she chuckled to herself, glancing down at a paper on her desk that Jon could only assume was his resumé. He vaguely remembered the promotional materials she was talking about, but she continued before he could think about whether or not he’d ever actually given permission for their pictures to be included. “But, then again, I suppose she wasn’t the one who’d just endured four years of coursework. How old is she now?”</p><p>“A year and nine months,” came Jon’s automatic reply. “She’ll be two in March.”</p><p>“Ah, how sweet. What’s her name?” The wry smile on her face softened ever so slightly, and Jon suddenly felt as though he could breathe again.</p><p>“Rosalind.”</p><p>“Rosalind Sims,” Gertrude said it like it was something sweet, her eyes lit by an unexpected warmth. “What a lovely name. I do hope you’ll bring her by the office sometime.”</p><p>The rest of the interview was unremarkable (questions about his resumé, his work history, how he’d enjoyed his time at university), but Jon still left the office with a silly, strangely confident smile on his face. He hadn’t fully wiped it away yet when he made it back to his apartment, apparently, if Georgie’s immediate confusion was anything to go by.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Was the first thing she asked when he walked through the door. She’d been playing with Rosalind, if the disaster zone of blocks and stuffed toys surrounding the two of them was anything to go by. “You’ve got a scary look on your face.”</p><p>“I—<em>yes</em>, I’m alright,” he scowled for a second, before Rosalind suddenly pulled herself to her feet and began to toddle over to him, effectively smoothing his expression into a grin. He knelt and held out his hands for her, laughing and sweeping her up into the air the moment she wrapped her chubby little arms around his neck. She shrieked with giggles as he pressed kisses all along the side of her face, then buried herself in his chest with a big smile. Jon pressed a final kiss to the top of her head before finally turning his attention back to Georgie. “The interview just went really well, is all.”</p><p>“It must have,” she grinned, carefully standing and weaving her way around the scattered playthings to come and press a sweet kiss to Jon’s cheek. “I’m happy for you. They’ve got people to watch Rosalind, then?”</p><p>“Mhm,” Jon nodded, happily leaning into Georgie’s kiss. They’d been… <em> something </em> for a while. Not dating, not living together, but involved. Neither of them wanted to complicate the situation further than that. “They’ve got a nursery, and then she’ll be in their preschool programme once she turns three.”</p><p>“That sounds perfect for her.”</p><p>“It does, doesn’t it?” Jon looked up from Rosalind to give Georgie a hopeful little smile. “She’ll get to be around other kids her age, and the building she’ll be in is less than five minutes away from the admissions office on foot. Assuming I get the job, of course.”</p><p>“Of course,” Georgie chuckled, taking his chin in her hand and guiding him into a long, passionate kiss that made his knees wobbly. She was smiling when she pulled away. “Come on, then. The kettle’s on in the kitchen, and you promised me dinner once you got home.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>Jon got the job a week later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is peak self-indulgence, folks! whether or not this turns into a slowburn will depend entirely on just how much self control i can muster. you can find me on tumblr @overmega and on twitter @ultramegaart, so feel free to drop by and let me know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first few weeks on the job were difficult, to say the least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rosalind was decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>happy with having to suddenly be apart from Jon and Georgie after so long with at least one of them always around to watch her, so Jon spent his first fortnight on campus visiting her on all of his lunch breaks to help calm her down. Her fits weren’t anything the staff couldn’t handle, of course, it was just that… well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon missed her too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His visits ultimately turned out to be wholly unhelpful, unfortunately, since the way she clung to him and cried whenever he had to leave made his heart break, and he rarely came back to the office feeling anything but stressed.  He spoke with Georgie about it and she gently advised him to stop visiting her during the day—advice which he begrudgingly accepted. It helped, but only until after they weathered two straight weeks of Rosalind in the grumpiest state they’d ever seen her in. Luckily, it was only in the last couple of days that she learned she could use toys as projectiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, there was the matter of his coworkers. They were a rather disjointed group when he first arrived, all of them being new hires, and it took a good long while for any real conversation to begin amongst them. Longer still for any of them to actually become friendly. They mostly stayed in their neatly labeled offices (Jonathan, Timothy, Sasha, Basira, and Melanie, each with the subtitle of ‘Admissions Officer’) and only spoke to each other when absolutely necessary for the first month or so. There were a couple days where Jon came and went without seeing a single other person in his department.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blessed exceptions to this awkwardness were Tim and Sasha, who had known each other since uni and were very interested in fostering the same level of companionship with the rest of their colleagues. They weren’t overly forceful about it, seemingly content to let everybody else warm up to the environment at their own pace, but they could be scarily efficient when they put their minds to it. Within the first week they had everybody’s birthdays and favorite snacks inputted into a color-coded spreadsheet, which was then printed out and pasted on the wall of the break room, along with detailed instructions regarding keeping the office fully stocked with said favorite snacks. They had a turn-based system and everything, just so nobody would have to buy their own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no real reason to follow the so-called “Snack Laws” written in 35 pt. Comic Sans, but it soon became a part of their office routine without acknowledgement or question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, despite Tim and Sasha’s best attempts at building bridges, things were tense for a long while. Even longer for Jon and Melanie, specifically, as a poorly-timed comment about communications majors that Jon made on his first day had incited a venomous streak in Melanie that was only exacerbated by Jon’s general avoidance of the issue. It made things quite awkward between them for a solid couple of months, before Basira finally tricked them into getting drinks together and they found that they both had a tendency to overshare while plastered. Their working relationship became uncomfortable for an entirely different set of reasons following that night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told her about my </span>
  <em>
    <span>childhood</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he moaned to a very unsympathetic Georgie after one particularly terse day. “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>grandmother.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She must think I’m—I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>neurotic</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon,” Georgie carefully began, not looking up from the spoonful of peas she was desperately trying to coax Rosalind into eating, “I really hate to be the one to break this to you, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> neurotic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Georgie, but did </span>
  <em>
    <span>Melanie</span>
  </em>
  <span> need to know that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way Georgie clicked her tongue was somehow dismissive and understanding at the same time. “Jon, love, she’s probably thinking the same things you are right now. Just talk to her about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that point Rosalind successfully managed to mash a handful of peas all over her forehead, and the conversation was all but forgotten.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took another week, but a very aggressive heart-to-heart in the break room (initiated by Melanie, unsurprisingly) soon smoothed things over for them once and for all. The office environment changed for the better after that, and Jon finally felt like he could breathe in comfortable silence rather than chilly distance. They began new traditions, monthly dinners and birthday lunches and the like, and slowly became more like an actual team.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like this that the first of Jon’s years at the university passed. Then the second. He and Georgie split in the third, but it was amicable enough and she was still wholly invested in helping to take care of Rosalind.  In the fourth was when Georgie and Melanie got together, which was… uncomfortable, for a while, but Jon and Melanie were irreversibly bonded at that point, and it wasn’t anything they couldn’t talk about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had officially been five years since Jon began working at the university when he first met Martin Blackwood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His day began like most did. He woke up, put the kettle on, began making Rosalind’s lunch for the day (leftover stew, a few apple slices, some celery, and a bag of fruit snacks all in a neatly divided tupperware container), and switched the tv on to the morning news. Mornings in the Sims household were generally pretty quiet, but Jon liked having at least a little bit of background noise as he made breakfast for them both. Rosalind wandered out of her room about ten minutes later, rubbing her eyes and yawning before immediately wrapping her skinny little arms around Jon’s middle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“G’morning,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by Jon’s jumper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, love,” he bent down to press a kiss to the top of her head, finding himself slightly disconcerted (as he always did) by just how much she’d grown in the past year. She was nearly seven now, a fact which Jon largely tried not to think about. “Did you sleep well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does oatmeal for breakfast sound good to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Go get dressed, I’ll have it ready when you’re done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded and stumbled away, more asleep than awake. Jon wouldn’t have been surprised to find her in her bed again after he was done with their food, but she miraculously reappeared just as Jon was sprinkling brown sugar over both of their bowls. Her descent upon her food after Jon set it down on the table was vaguely reminiscent of a wild animal, and all was silent for a moment as she scarfed it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is Aunt Georgie coming ‘round after school today?” She eventually asked, after she’d slowed down enough to breathe between bites. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chew and swallow, please,” Jon reminded, not having to look up from his own bowl to know that she was speaking through a mouthful of oatmeal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She made a big show of rolling her eyes and doing so, to which Jon could only raise an eyebrow and smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do I have to use manners at </span>
  <em>
    <span>home?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you need the practice, you little beast. What were you saying?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Georgie</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Is she coming ‘round today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “I can ask. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No reason,” she answered far too quickly. Her little face screwed up in a way that Jon knew meant she had a secret, but he decided not to push it. He figured that it probably had something to do with his upcoming birthday, and Rosalind always got terribly upset whenever he tried to spoil his own surprises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, then,” he said, standing up and clearing away their mostly empty bowls. “I’ll call her when I get to work. Go finish getting ready, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He got Rosalind to school on time without incident, smiling at the quick hug he received before she ran off to be with her friends. She had decided the previous year that she was too big for kisses—another thing he’d had to talk to Georgie about. It took a while to get used to, but now he appreciated the little bits of warmth she showed despite her perceived maturity. God knows he’d been colder than she ever was as a child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His easy smile as he drove away didn’t last long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had been hoping for his nice morning to continue, but that was forgotten entirely when he pulled into the university car park and found absolutely no parking. Not a single space open, </span>
  <em>
    <span>including</span>
  </em>
  <span> the spot that he’d been parking in since the beginning of the term. He felt his blood pressure spike at that—this had never been an issue in the past, and it felt like something of a bad omen for it suddenly to be one today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides that, it was just plain </span>
  <em>
    <span>rude</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There was something of a silent contract in place to prevent situations like Jon’s from ever happening, where everyone chose a parking space at the beginning of the school year and stuck to it until the end. To suddenly switch to someone else’s in the middle of </span>
  <em>
    <span>February </span>
  </em>
  <span>was—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Needless to say, Jon wasn’t in the best mood when he finally made it into the admissions office that morning. The closest parking spot that he’d managed to find had been far enough from the office that he’d had to jog to get there on time, and Jonathan Sims was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a jogger. The knowledge that he probably looked as shitty as he felt (he was sure that his hair was nothing short of a rat’s nest) was enough to solidify the sour look on his face as he stepped inside the main office area and shuddered in the sudden blast of warmth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon!” Sasha called from her office, waving through the open door with a smile. Tim was perched on the edge of her desk (as usual), and she seemed more than a little flushed. Jon decided not to ask what they’d been doing before he walked in. “Come here—your hair is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mess</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sasha, I hadn’t noticed,” he sniped, coming to linger in her doorway despite himself. “Some tosser took my parking spot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” she winced sympathetically, standing up to usher him over to the chair in front of her desk. She wasted no time in wrestling his hair tie out of his now-obsolete bun, coming his curls out with deft fingers. “Had to run, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unfortunately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what Sasha is talking about,” Tim grinned, swinging his legs over to the side of the desk to face them both. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> think you look fantastic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of approaching footsteps made Jon’s head jerk on instinct, but a scolding noise from Sasha was enough to keep him mostly still. “It’s just Basira, calm yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Professionalism is dead, and you lot have killed it,” came Basira’s dry voice from somewhere behind them. “Why are we playing hair salon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon had to run to make it in this morning.” Tim looked far too smug about the whole ordeal, swinging his legs like a child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Someone took my parking spot,” Jon grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah.” Basira carefully stepped around him and Sasha, hopping up next to Tim on the desk and pulling out her phone to absentmindedly scroll through it. “White Toyota?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes…?” Jon frowned at her, momentarily forgetting the tugging at his scalp. “How did you—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’d be the new professor, then. Met him at the café this morning."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve got a new professor?” Jon didn’t remember seeing an email about any new arrivals, but he tended to delete most things from the dean the moment they made it into his inbox. Dr. Bouchard gave him the creeps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Blackwood’s his name. He’s taking over for, uh… oh, you know, that one fucker from the English department.” Her brow furrowed for a moment, before she suddenly snapped her fingers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Delano</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s taking over for Delano.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Sasha mused. “He’s doing the poetry course, then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As far as I know, yeah. Seemed nice enough when I met him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too bad he’s also incompetent,” Jon snapped. “He shouldn’t be parking on this side of the campus if he works in the English department.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jon,” Sasha chided, carding her fingers through his hair from the roots to the ends before beginning a loose braid, “we don’t know why he’s parking over here. Maybe he has business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He does have business!” Melanie called from her office a couple doors down. “He’s been introducing himself to the staff!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in here if you want to talk to us!” Sasha called back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Things were quiet for a few seconds before Melanie poked her head in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He </span>
  <em>
    <span>bakes,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she grinned, circling around Jon’s chair to admire Sasha’s handiwork. “Basira can tell you all about that, I’m sure. He met with the custodians and guards yesterday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, ‘cause she’s shagging the security officer?” Tim practically beamed, hooking an arm around Basira’s shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesus—we’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>dating</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Tim,” Basira chuckled, gently shoving him away. “Daisy </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> say something about scones, though. Blueberry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lovely. A nuisance who bakes,” Jon deadpanned. “Just what we need at this school. We can put him on the brochures.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He really hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding so mean, but the sudden wave of collective outrage on behalf of the new professor was enough to make Jon’s head throb. They all spoke over each other at once, scolding him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’re just being a </span>
  <em>
    <span>prick</span>
  </em>
  <span> now—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve heard really great things from his old students—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s got more degrees than </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> do—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was about to say something to defend his bad mood (or maybe to apologize), when the sudden sound of the main office door opening plunged the room into silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello?” The newcomer asked, taking a couple audible steps forward. Jon craned his neck back to see who it was, but Melanie had closed the door behind herself when she walked in. They sounded kind, whoever they were, with heavy footfalls and an endearingly soft voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’d be him, then,” Basira muttered, shutting her phone off and standing up to open Sasha’s door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Upon review, Jon found that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> sounded like a spot-stealing asshole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nice to see you again, Professor Blackwood,” Basira was saying as Jon tried to scourge all memory of the word ‘endearing’ from his mind. “The rest of our little team is right through there. We were just having a chat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon only had a second to comprehend Basira’s words before he was darting to his feet and doing everything he could to look like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hadn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> just been getting his hair done. This resulted in him folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the desk next to Tim, an action which earned him three </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>unimpressed stares all at once. Basira and the professor stepped through the doorway a second later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mr. Blackwood admittedly didn’t look at all as Jon had been picturing him. He was just… big. Big and soft-looking. His large build, strawberry blond curls, and ludicrously freckled skin all reminded him of the lads he’d grown up with that all went on to be farmers, but the cable-knit jumper he wore over his rumpled button-up landed him squarely in the professorial field. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon disliked him immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Er—hi, everybody. You can just call me Martin, if you’d like,” he said with a smile, reaching up with one hand to sheepishly rub at the back of his neck. His other held what appeared to be an orange Tupperware container that Jon was sure would look much larger were it not currently competing with the man’s massive palm. “I’ve, uh, I’ve brought some scones, actually, if you’d like me to put them anywhere specific.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, one of us can take those to the break room,” Sasha piped up. “Don’t worry about it. I’m Sasha, by the way, and this is Melanie, Tim, Jon, and you know Basira already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I do. It’s really nice to meet you all—I’ve heard quite a bit about the admissions crew already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All good things, I presume?” Tim grinned, pushing himself off the edge of the desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“O-Oh, of course!” Jon watched Martin flush all the way to the tips of his ears, a pretty thing that made Jon seethe. “The people in HR said that you lot are like a, um, like a little family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t go </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> far,” Basira smiled, “but we do try to look out for each other. Here, Jon can take your scones—Jon?” She gave him a cool look that meant he’d owe her later, but he was too busy relishing the escape he’d been given to care. He’d never walked across that office faster, giving the professor a curt nod and a tight little smile as he took the container, and continuing towards the doorway with freedom so close that he could almost taste it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was, until he tripped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The incident itself happened in slow motion—his toe skidding against the carpet, his weight pitching forward, the ground’s sudden approach—like the universe wanted him to feel the sinking dread in his stomach for as long as possible. He finally accepted the fact that he was going to eat shit about halfway through, clutching the Tupperware to his chest like an old friend and closing his eyes in anticipation. This would be mortifying, he knew, but there was nothing that could be done anymore. He was beyond saving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, though, he felt an arm catch his waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One big, freckled arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One big, freckled arm, connected to a big, freckled hand.</span>
</p>
<p><span>One big, freckled arm connected to a big, freckled hand on one end, and Martin</span> <span>Blackwood on the other.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ah—wow, that could’ve been bad,” the professor laughed nervously as he steadied Jon, like it wasn’t already bad enough. Like Jon wasn’t already in the midst of a crisis. “Are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I—</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jon forced out through gritted teeth, his face hot. He could see the delight on Tim’s face in his peripheral, and he’d never hated his life more than he did in that moment. “Thank you, Martin. I have t-to, to go, now. To the break room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, of course. It was lovely meeting you, Jon,” the bastard practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>beamed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sealing the lid to Jon’s proverbial coffin like it was nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise,” he managed to stay long enough to say, before turning on his heel and all but sprinting out of the office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After an hour spent hiding in the break room, Jon concluded that the scones were best with tea.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>tim and basira get to be best friends because i say so. you can find me on tumblr @overmega and on twitter @ultramegaart, feel free to drop by and lemme know what you think!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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